First Christmas of Eternity
by Feriku
Summary: It's that time of year...a blizzard in the halls of South Ashfield Heights, mistletoe on the Wall Men, singing ghosts and bad magicians-you know, Christmas!
1. Christmas Eve

_Author's note: Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope you're all having a wonderful time. I have for you a two-part special written for the holiday season. Now, be sure to write reviews or otherwise tell me your opinions on this one—because this is very similar in style and tone to another story I have in mind. _Another Day of Eternity_ would be an ongoing story in this setting, with the same sort of illogical happenings and occasional parties. Consider this to be sort of like a pilot episode for it. This might never fit properly into the continuity of the other one, but it will be a good test for how such a story would be received. Let me know!  
Also, I'd like to thank all of the artists whose songs are mentioned in this story. "We Need a Little Christmas" was especially good; to me it gives a good feeling as to why a bunch of characters in this situation would be celebrating Christmas in the first place.  
Oh, and the reason they had to try so many times before no one drew their own name out of the hat is because I was determining it randomly, and it kept happening!  
You know, at least the characters can excuse their actions by claiming that Eric's eggnog was running a little too freely. I don't have such an excuse. This is just the way my mind works. Well, I won't delay you any longer—Merry Christmas! _

* * *

**First Christmas of Eternity**

Christmas Eve

Henry Townshend was caught in a blizzard, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

Of course, despite the way the snow filled the air, he could go right through it, but he didn't like to think about that. He saw that it had already accumulated several feet; well, he wasn't exactly _seeing_ it, but he didn't like to think about that, either.

It wasn't a physical obstacle that kept him rooted in place, but bewilderment. Not that he had never seen a heavy snowstorm on Christmas Eve…

…just not one in the halls of South Ashfield Heights.

"Henry, what do you think of it?" Eileen Galvin's voice cried from somewhere within the blizzard.

"The snow is your doing?" he asked uncertainly, looking around for her.

"It was a team effort," she said, appearing beside him. She twirled around. "What would Christmas be without snow?"

A snarl responded. "Oh, for the love of Valtiel"—Jimmy Stone emerged from the storm, tromping through the snow with difficulty and looking even more ghoulish than usual because of his scowl—"the Order does not celebrate Christmas!"

"Can't you even have a little holiday cheer?" she asked, frowning at him.

"No!" he snapped. "I never had holiday cheer when I was alive, and I don't intend to start now!"

"It would be easy if you floated," Henry offered, watching Stone struggle through the snow. They didn't get along, but it seemed fitting to the season to try to make peace with the other ghosts.

Stone glared at him furiously. "Shut up! I will not! I still have my self-respect!"

If self-respect meant having difficulty moving even two steps, then he had more of it than Henry wanted.

"You won't lose control just by floating," he said, wondering if it was the fear of reverting to the form of a mindless, hate-filled specter with no goal but to haunt the Otherworlds that was bothering him. He levitated towards the ceiling to prove his point. "See, even I can—"

"Shut up!"

"Spoilsport," Eileen muttered.

"Moron," Stone countered.

"_Snow!_"

Henry ducked just as the Twin Victim catapulted over his head and ran into the thick of the storm.

"Billy! Miriam! Wait for me!" Little Walter nearly collided with Henry, then ducked around his leg and kept running.

"They really wanted snow," Eileen said with a smile.

"Oh, it was _you_," Stone said, pointing at her accusingly. "When I saw the snow, I knew it was either you, siding with the outsider twerps, or Blake trying to make me miserable."

"Twerps?" she demanded.

"I was being polite," he snapped. "Those idiot children have no right being here, and—"

"They have as much right as anyone!"

"The one is a monster, not even human! At least we're human inside the room, but that thing needs a good blow with an axe again!"

"You touch Billy and Miriam and you'll pay!" Eileen warned.

"Oh, no doubt, because everyone here is an idiot! If I were in charge—"

"Well, you're not, so lay off," Henry cut in, trying to avert what looked like a disaster in the making.

George Rosten and Toby Archbolt suddenly emerged from the floor.

"What's wrong, Jimmy?" Rosten asked.

"You're all making enough noise to wake the dead, namely me," Archbolt added.

As the three members of the Order began to mutter about the ridiculousness of celebrating any sort of holiday, Henry met Eileen's gaze and they took the opportunity to escape into Room 302.

Inside the room, he was immediately transformed into a form more closely resembling him in life, and he was also immediately blinded by a mass of blinking, multicolored lights.

"Merry Christmas!" Steve Garland greeted.

"We're decorating," Rick Albert added. "This place needs some life—figuratively speaking, of course."

Cynthia Velasquez floated through the door to join them. "I'm done putting up the mistletoe."

"The what?" Henry demanded.

"Mistletoe," she repeated with a wink. "Go stand under some, and you'll understand."

"I'll help him understand," Eileen offered, also winking.

He decided to just ignore both of them. How they could even think about such things amidst this lunacy was beyond him. And speaking of lunacy…

Just past the two ghosts with their decorations was a gigantic pine tree. Melting snow was dripping onto the carpet.

"You're actually trying to make this place look festive," he said in amazement.

A choking noise came as Stone and his two cronies finally made it inside and halted, staring at the tree. "For the love of Valtiel, what is that?"

"It's a Christmas tree!" Steve explained, beaming. "Incidentally, could someone go get Walter out of the bedroom? We want to decorate in there next."

"Why can't you decorate with him in there?" Eileen asked.

Before he could answer, a voice from the hall whimpered, "How did you talk me _into _this?"

Sharon Blake, apparently sneaking out of the bedroom, frowned at Andrew DeSalvo, who was trailing her nervously. "Come on, it's not like we're doing anything wrong. It'll be a nice surprise!"

They floated past towards the laundry room, and Henry noticed that Sharon was carrying what looked suspiciously like a blue coat.

"…Anyway," Steve finally said, "we'd just…rather not."

Rick mumbled nervous agreement.

"I'll get him to come out," Cynthia offered.

Rosten whispered something to the other two, and the three Order priests burst into laughter. They all looked at Cynthia. Her eyebrows shot up, and Archbolt commented, "George just thought you might end up staying there."

She gave him an icy glare and left.

"That wasn't very nice," Henry said. He did, however, wonder what she was going to do.

A moment later, he found out.

"I am the ghost of Christmas past!"

"What the hell was that?" Richard Braintree demanded, jumping up from where he had been sleeping on the couch.

Cynthia's voice came a bit more insistently, "Get up, for I am the ghost of Christmas past!"

"What is she doing?" Henry asked.

Joseph popped out of the ceiling, nearly scaring him half to death—not that he needed it. He was holding a mug. "Maybe it's the eggnog. Eric made eggnog, but he didn't actually know how. You might call what he made 'whiskey' instead."

_Great. Drunk ghosts—that's all we need._

"Get up, Walter Sullivan, for I am the ghost of Christmas past!"

"Well, the ghost of Christmas present is trying to sleep!" Richard shouted, as Cynthia came out.

She was propelling Walter in front of her. He was wearing dark pants and a black shirt, and he looked a bit confused. "Has anyone seen my coat?"

A strangled noise escaped Stone. From the look on his face, he couldn't decide if getting Sharon in trouble would be worth having to help out Walter.

The bathroom door burst open suddenly, and Frank Sunderland flew out. He was wearing a fur-lined red suit and hat, and he had managed to find a fake beard. "Ho ho ho! HO HO HO! Merry Christmas!"

"Let me guess," Walter said into the startled silence that followed. "The ghost of Christmas future?"

Frank frowned at him. "Of course not! I'm Santa Claus!" He pointed at him dramatically. "And have you been a good little boy this year?"

Lest grievous bodily harm be done to Santa Claus, Henry grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away.

"Hey, that's not the Christmas spirit!" Frank protested.

"You just asked an insane serial killer if he had 'been a good little boy,' Frank."

The older man looked away with a pout. "You think you know everything, just because you're one of the 21 Sacraments and I'm not."

At that point, Henry threw his hands up into the air and gave up.

Everyone else was still standing around where they had been, except for Steve and Rick, who had taken their decorations into the bedroom. Jimmy Stone was still fidgeting with indecision.

"Got it!" a voice shouted from the corner of the living room. William Gregory and Eric Walsh had been working silently, and now William held up the radio with a look of triumph. "The radio now broadcasts only Christmas music!"

Indeed, the box was issuing forth noises that sounded rather like you'd expect Christmas broadcasts in the Otherworld to sound. After a few moments of hearing the un-merry carols, William quickly turned it off.

"Once everyone's here, can we all gather together for a minute?" Frank asked.

"Why?" Richard asked. He looked suspicious.

"I think we should have a Secret Santa."

"That's a good idea," Eileen said.

"No it's not; it's a terrible idea!" Richard cried.

"It could be fun," Cynthia countered.

"Isn't it a little late?" Henry asked. It would have been better if Frank had suggested this a few weeks ago. "I mean, it's already Christmas Eve."

"It's not like we have crowds to compete with," Joseph pointed out.

"It's not like we have _stores_, either."

"Since this is technically my world, would someone tell me what we're talking about?" Walter asked. "What is this 'Secret Santa' he wants to have?"

For a moment, everyone just stared at him. Finally, Frank said, "You know, Secret Santa. It's a gift-giving technique to get around the fact that there are really a lot of us here. Instead of everyone getting everyone gifts—or getting some people gifts and not others and making them feel bad—everyone randomly draws someone else's name, and gets that person a gift!"

"Would I get a gift?"

"Of course!"

Walter looked wary of this idea of holiday generosity. "There's a catch somewhere, isn't there?"

Richard rolled his eyes and muttered, "Yeah, open the wrapping paper wrong and you actually sell your soul; what does he think this _is_?"

"Well, you do have to give a gift to the person whose name you draw," Frank said.

"That's it?"

"Err, yes…"

It all seemed a bit too happy for Stone, who stomped his foot on the floor, apparently having made up his mind at last. "So, I think I saw two thieves hiding in the laundry room, if someone wanted to open the door and see…"

Before anyone could react to his words, however, Henry became aware of a raucous noise coming from outside the room. Everyone else looked towards the door as well, as it became louder. It sounded only slightly better than what had been coming through the radio.

The door flew open, revealing a newly-melted path through the snow, courtesy of Jasper Gein, who was one of the four singers, as well as being on fire. He, Bobby Randolph, and Sein Martin were singing what might have been Deck the Halls, but his stuttering kept him a few bars behind the other two. The fourth singer was Peter Walls, who was instead singing what sounded like a pirate song.

"Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-laaaaaaaa!" they finished, holding out the final note long enough for Jasper to catch up, and for Peter to join in with, "And a bottle of ruuuuuuuuuum!"

Henry had the feeling he'd been dead for a little too long. This sort of thing was starting to make sense to him.

Applause broke out from Little Walter and the Twin Victim, who had followed them in.

"Is everyone here now?" Frank asked.

Henry looked around. Other than Andrew, Sharon, and the two decorators, it looked like everyone was there.

"Let's c-c-count," Jasper suggested. "Seventeen."

"Two," Bobby said, with Sein's, "Three," close behind.

"Oh no!" Peter cried. "I can't remember what number I am!"

"I'm ten," Eric said, walking over. "You've got to be after me, because you weren't one of the Ten Hearts."

"Maybe I'm eleven, then."

"Twelve," Walter corrected.

Joseph nodded. "Yes, Peter Walls was the twelfth victim."

Peter shook his head. "No, Walter just said he was twelve."

"No, I was eleventh."

"Well, make up your mind!"

"This is ridiculous!" Richard interrupted. "If we counted off in order, maybe this would work, but we can't figure out who's here by just randomly shouting numbers! That's like everyone yelling their names and hoping the person with the list can keep up!"

Steve and Rick came out, then, dusting off their hands.

"The room looks nice and festive!" Rick assured them.

"And we put up some mistletoe at the lady's request," Steve added, with a short bow in the direction of Cynthia.

Henry made a mental note to not stop anywhere without checking above him first.

"Andrew and Sharon aren't here!" Stone finally shouted. "If you had been listening to me earlier, you'd know that's because…" He stopped and looked at the laundry room as shouting began to come from it. "Never mind… You don't need me to tell you where they are."

"Why's he helping?" Frank whispered.

"He's not," Henry began to explain, but then the laundry room door opened and Andrew peeked out. The former guard caught his eye and began to signal frantically to him. It was not quite inconspicuous.

"Err, I'll be back," Henry said, edging away from the curious group and hurrying over. "What's the matter?"

"Have you used the washing machine since it got all…" He waved his hands around uselessly.

"Haunted?" Henry suggested. "No, I haven't. Why?"

Sharon joined Andrew at the door. "Well, we thought that it might be nice if we washed Walter's coat—okay, _I_ thought it would be nice; don't look at me like that, Andrew. I thought it would be nice to take the bloodstains out. Well, the good news is, the bloodstains are out!"

"The bad news is, the cloth they were on went with them," Andrew mumbled gloomily.

Sharon held up the hole-filled material that had once been Walter's coat. "Any suggestions?"

For a while, Henry just looked at them. "Patches?" he finally suggested.

"Yes, maybe I won't notice," Walter said sarcastically from behind Henry, causing all three of them to jump.

There was a _thump_ as Andrew hit the floor in a dead faint.

"Hello, boss!" Sharon greeted, sounding a little nervous. "This isn't as bad as it looks."

Henry heard hastily muffled laughter and turned to see Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt standing by. He wasn't quite sure when the enmity between them and Sharon had started, but it was strong. Right now, they looked as though all of their holiday cheer was going to come from seeing something terrible happen to her.

He scowled at them for her sake and received condescending sneers in return. Despite the fact that the prospect of spending eternity together had put nearly everyone on reasonably friendly terms, even if it was a little uneasy in places, those three were openly hostile to…well, everyone.

Walter turned to see what Henry was looking at, and noticed the Order priests. He stared at them for a moment, and then he smiled. It wasn't a very nice smile. They backed up, looking considerably less sure of themselves.

"Okay, Andrew, I know you're not really unconscious, so get up," he said, pulling the other man to his feet. "Sharon, don't steal any more of my clothes."

"Sure thing, boss!" she said, as he walked away.

Henry wondered if he had fallen into an alternate reality when he wasn't paying attention. That was strange behavior for the Walter Sullivan he knew.

"He did that just to spite us, you know," George said glumly, as the three disheartened cultists walked off to grumble in the corner.

"Will everyone _please_ come here so we can discuss the Secret Santa?" Frank called.

"Why do you call Walter 'boss,' Sharon?" Henry asked, as the three of them rejoined the rest of the group.

"Well, if anyone's in charge of these Otherworlds, he is." She shrugged. "Besides, it annoys the heck out of Stone."

He laughed in spite of himself. It didn't seem right to have a good time while being dead, but sometimes it was hard. He glanced at the Order priests. Besides, the alternative didn't look appealing.

"Secret Santa," Richard muttered, shaking his head. "All right, let's get this over with."

"We're short three people," Frank said.

Eileen raised her eyebrows. "Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt? I really don't think they want to participate."

"Oh, fine," he sighed. "Now, here's how it works. Everyone, write your name on a piece of paper. Then, drop it in the hat." He pulled off his hat and held it out. "Once everyone's name is in the hat, we'll start drawing names." He looked at them. "Well, what's everyone waiting for?"

It caused more trouble than it should have. First, there was the problem of paper. Henry found it, since he was the most familiar with the apartment's current layout. However, while he was searching, Joseph dug out his old typewriter from who-knows-where, along with his favorite red paper. While Richard and Cynthia got in line with their own paper to use the typewriter, Eileen helped Henry to search for pencils, and by the time they found some, Walter had written his name in his own blood instead. That apparently seemed like a wonderful idea to Bobby and Sein, who immediately followed suit. Jasper lit his paper on fire three times before remembering to extinguish himself first. The Twin Victim couldn't actually write, but decided to make a valiant attempt. Everyone else had waited patiently for the pencils, except for Peter Walls, who—possibly with a little encouragement from Eric's "eggnog"—decided to tear his paper into the shape of his initials, with very little success.

Frank threw the paper with his name on it into the hat, and held it out for the others, commenting, "Well, this is different."

That was putting it mildly.

"I hate to dampen everyone's good mood," Richard said, rolling his eyes as he looked at the hat full of names, "but isn't this taking the secrecy away a bit? I mean, we'll know whoever is holding the red paper pulled Joseph's name, for example, and that charred one is Jasper's."

Frank frowned. "Well…everyone will just have to close their eyes, and hide the paper once they've drawn it!"

Henry felt a headache coming on.

"I thought of something else," Cynthia said. "We have two people with the same name."

"Check for differences in handwriting," Eric suggested.

"Like the fact that one of them will be written in bright red," Steve said under his breath.

With that, they were ready. Even drawing the names took longer than it should have, probably because everyone had to fumble around to find the hat with their eyes closed. To make matters worse, the first five times they tried, someone drew their own name. Finally, Henry shielded his paper from view for the final time and opened his eyes.

He'd gotten the charred, blackened piece of paper with Jasper's name scrawled on it. He waited, but no one reported getting their own name this time. At first he was dismayed, but then he realized that it would be an easy thing to decide what to get him. Jasper's absolute delight with chocolate milk hadn't been lost on him.

Actually finding chocolate milk in the Otherworld was another matter, but he figured everyone else would be having similar troubles.

"If we don't like the name we got, can we pull another one?" Richard asked.

"Please?" Andrew asked.

"No!"

Richard sighed and shook his head.

"I'm surprised you even decided to participate," Cynthia said, frowning at him. She shoved the paper she had drawn down her shirt.

"Well, if monsters, murderers, and abusive prison guards have the holiday spirit, what would that make me if I didn't?"

"An Order priest?" Sharon suggested under her breath.

William waved his hand in the air. "Hey, everyone, in case I got your name, is there anyone here who really dislikes clocks?"

No one said anything, and Eric quickly jumped in with, "Could I see a show of hands of everyone who doesn't drink?"

Henry rather hoped neither of them had drawn his name. Then again, considering the mad assortment of ghosts in Room 302, maybe a clock or a drink wouldn't be such a bad present. He pitied whoever's name Walter had drawn.

"So, how do we get the presents?" Joseph asked.

Cynthia smiled at him. "If you can think about things like that, you haven't had nearly enough eggnog."

"My recipe is a success!" Eric proclaimed, pumping his fist into the air.

"Your 'recipe' isn't even eggnog," Rick argued.

"Hey, I just look at results."

"I'll make some cookies and knock your business down to the ground," Sharon said, giving him a challenging look.

"Is anyone going to answer my question?" Joseph asked.

It was Bobby who answered. "There's probably a ritual to cover bringing objects into the Otherworld. It shouldn't be too tricky…"

"Yeah, it'll be fine!" Sein added. "We'll figure it out, won't we, guys?"

Bobby and Jasper nodded happily.

"When you're ready to shop, just come to one of us for help! Or, you know, Walter might be able to do it. Personally, though, I think we're more approachable."

Walter was rubbing his head and not looking at any of them.

Richard threw his arms up into the air. "Oh, brilliant, because getting people who don't know what they're doing to perform rituals in the Otherworlds _always_ works out well! I've got dibs on shopping with the serial killer!"

No one said anything to that, although Andrew looked like he was going to be sick. He was probably trying to decide which was the more dangerous choice, and Henry had to admit that both could involve danger—dead or not, he liked to avoid danger whenever possible.

"This is going to be fun!" Frank said, clapping his hands together. "We have decorations, a tree, presents…"

"Don't forget the Christmas show!" Sharon added, beaming.

"The what?" Henry asked, in unison with Eileen, Richard, and Steve.

"We're putting on a Christmas show tomorrow afternoon," Cynthia said with a wink. "Better get your shopping done now, because you won't want to miss this!"

Eileen laughed. "You know, this might even _feel_ like Christmas!"

"_Snow!_" the Twin Victim added.

"Yes, why _is_ there a blizzard in the hallways, anyway?" Joseph asked.

"I put it there," Walter said. "Little Walter wanted snow." He picked up his younger self, who looked a little startled.

"I wanted snow, too," Eileen said.

"_Snow!_"

The snow co-conspirators smiled at one another—well, with the exception of Billy and Miriam, who just pointed—and it occurred to Henry that this was a surprisingly friendly gathering of the ghosts. The atmosphere in Room 302 could get a little…tense…at times.

He had thought it was an insane idea to try to celebrate Christmas this year. He understood to some degree why Stone and the other two were scowling from the other end of the room. With all that had happened, it didn't seem like they should be celebrating anything at all. Yet now, he had the feeling that this was exactly the sort of thing they needed.

"We b-b-better start l-learning th-that ritual," Jasper pointed out.

"Yes, and we need to finish decorating!" Steve cried. He threw an excited glance towards the tree.

William looked around and said, "I'm going to work on the radio some more. Will you give me a hand, Henry?"

"Sure," he replied, with a shrug. He didn't know anything about the inner workings of a radio, but he didn't have anything else to do.

As everyone else scattered, either to other parts of Room 302 or outside, and the two of them headed for the radio, they were joined by Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt. Somehow, he suspected they weren't there to help.

"What in the name of Valtiel are you doing?" Stone asked.

William pulled a screwdriver out of his pocket and began to open up the radio. "Fixing the radio."

"What do you know about radios?" Stone sneered.

"Nothing, but I know about clocks, and that's as good as it gets around here."

"Well, it is battery operated," Archbolt commented.

The others in the vicinity, Henry included, looked at him as though he were crazy.

"If you wanted an electrician, you'd call Braintree," he explained.

"I heard that!" Richard shouted from across the room.

"Anyway, Townshend," Stone said condescendingly, "have you fallen as low as the others? You were the most recent to die; I would think you still possessed enough sense to know you have nothing to celebrate."

Henry ignored him. "What can I do to help, William?"

"Try to de-haunt it."

"…What?"

The elderly clockmaker sighed. "It's not working properly because it's haunted."

"It may have escaped your infinite wisdom, but everything here's haunted," Stone muttered under his breath.

"Oh, let's go," Rosten pleaded. "If we hurry, we can stop those three fools from using our rituals for mundane purposes."

"Four," Stone corrected distractedly.

"What?"

"Four fools."

"I don't know," Archbolt disagreed. "The fourth fool was trained by George, remember."

"Toby, stop reminding everyone that I had a role in this disaster!"

William was managing to ignore their chatter. "Now, we all can haunt things here to some degree, so it only makes sense that we can de-haunt them as well, right?"

Henry didn't actually think that made a lot of sense, but he wasn't going to give the Order priests the satisfaction of seeing him turn away from helping the other ghost. So, as William tinkered with the insides of the radio, he focused his thoughts on working radios that broadcasted bright, happy music.

To his amazement, the faint strains of "Jingle Bells" began to filter into the room.

"Is that the screwdriver that killed you, William?" Stone asked nastily.

William lost his concentration and dropped the radio. The music faded into static again, and he looked down unhappily.

Henry's disgust for the Order priest caused him to have a sudden, vivid fantasy of the ghost being attacked by the Christmas decorations in the room. He hadn't counted on the degree of influence he actually had been having on the radio, and the excess power he was still wielding. A startled exclamation came from Stone as a string of colored lights flew off the wall and wrapped itself around him.

"What did you do?" he demanded, trying to untangle himself. The lights stubbornly refused to come off. "For the love of Valtiel, what did you _do_?"

Henry tried hard not to laugh. After all, it wasn't very funny.

"Looking good, Jimmy!" Toby said with a grin.

"Let's go stop those rituals now," George suggested.

"Not like this! I look like a bloody ornament!"

William retrieved the radio and raised his eyebrows at Henry. "You did that, didn't you?"

"I didn't mean to," he said, feeling embarrassed. "It just made me angry that he distracted you like that."

"Well, thanks." He flipped the screwdriver in the air and caught it. "And who knows, he might be right. Darned if that's going to stop me, though!"

Henry glanced at the three Order ghosts, who were all fighting with the lights now. From the way Stone was shouting, Rosten and Archbolt weren't trying quite as hard as he wanted them to. He lowered his voice, not wanting them to overhear him.

"William, how do you do it?"

"What do you mean?" He had gotten a few notes to come out of the radio again, and he seemed fairly pleased with the situation.

"They're so bitter, and at first, I thought I knew why. But you've been dead for ten years, and you aren't like that. How did you stop being resentful?" He searched for the right words. "How did you…stop hating Walter?"

He gave a sad smile. "Well, if you ask me, bitterness, resentment, and hatred are what put us here in the first place. Besides, I'd rather sing Christmas carols and have Stone think I'm an idiot than join him in an eternity of hatred. Look at him, Henry. He's not happy. Nothing can make him happy now. I'd rather be happy."

Henry looked at Stone, still trying to get untangled.

"Get me out of this, you idiots! Townshend! Stop smiling at me, Townshend! I'm warning you—and I'm warning _you_, Toby, if you don't lose that grin…"

William was right. He didn't want to end up like that. It was possible to be happy here, and he wasn't going to go out of his way to be unhappy just to prove a point.

Sein flew into the room. "We're all ready! Is anyone ready to go shopping?"

"Do you still want help with the radio?" Henry asked.

"Nah…" William held it up to his ear. "I think I can handle it from here. Thanks again."

"Thank _you_," he corrected, and floated over to join Sein. No one else was jumping up to volunteer, and since he already knew what he wanted to get Jasper, it seemed like a good idea to get it out of the way. "Okay, let's give this a try."

"Jasper and Bobby are ready, too," he informed the rest of the room's occupants. "They're in Rooms 102 and 207, respectively."

"207?" Richard shot towards the door. "No one's performing rituals in _my_ room!"

Henry followed Sein into the hallway and over to Room 301, where he had set up. There was a circle drawn on the floor, with various runes and symbols drawn around it. It looked fairly sinister, and he had to admit that he had never thought he would be Christmas shopping like this.

"What do I do?" he asked.

Sein consulted the evil-looking book he had floating in the air. "Step into the circle."

Henry did so, a little nervously.

"Now, concentrate on the item you want to appear. If you can think of a real-world location where it might be, that would help."

_Chocolate milk_, he thought firmly. He tried to imagine the shape of the bottle, the smooth texture of the milk itself, and a cheerful shelf in a grocery store. He could almost see them all lined up, and that was exactly the sort of thing he wanted to appear…

The next thing he knew, he was on fire.

He leaped out of the circle and immediately focused on the fact that he was a ghost. Outside of the room, it wasn't even remotely hard to remember. The flames vanished quickly, but he couldn't keep from shuddering. For a few moments there, he had been in intense pain.

"Huh," Sein said, frowning. "Well, let's try again. Get back in the circle…"

Henry fled to Room 302.

"What's the matter, Henry?" Eileen asked, as he flew over to join her. She was standing in the kitchen, apparently acting as referee as Frank and Sharon argued over cookie recipes. "You don't look so well."

"I don't like rituals," he said simply.

She laughed. "Christmas shopping not going so well?"

"Not at all."

"I need to decide what to get," she said. "I wonder who drew my name…" She looked at him curiously, as though wondering if it was him, and he decided to just smile mysteriously instead of answering. After all, even though he hadn't drawn her name, it was called _Secret_ Santa for a reason.

He glanced at the two competing chefs, wondering just what the problem was. Frank's Santa beard was flying everywhere as he gestured wildly at a bowl in front of them.

"No," Sharon was saying, reaching into a jar of salt and grabbing some with two fingers, "the recipe needs a _pinch_ of salt, like this."

"You're wrong," Frank disagreed. He grabbed the whole jar and upended it over the bowl. "It calls for a dash of salt, like this."

"That's not a dash! That's a nightmare!"

"You don't like salty cookies?"

"Weird," Henry muttered, shaking his head.

Eileen laughed. "If you think that's weird, just wait until the Christmas show tomorrow. Frank keeps making references to his 'costume.'"

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

He began to suggest that they simply go and haunt some part of the Otherworld during the Christmas show, but then he was distracted by Richard, who had flown into the room with a big, wrapped box. He set it under the tree.

"You got something already?" Henry demanded, flying over to him.

"Yep."

He thought back to his experience with the milk and wondered how long he would have had to keep at it to get something to materialize. It made him cringe. "How bad was it?"

Richard raised his eyebrows. "Well, I didn't have to fight anyone in the mall, so it's a step up from most Christmas shopping trips."

He blinked, wondering if that was a joke, or if Richard regularly had fought people in stores at Christmastime when he was alive. "No, I mean how painful was it? Was it very horrible?"

"Nah…" Richard shrugged. "Really, Sullivan's not _that_ bad of company, once you get past the maniacal, murdering, borderline-psychotic side of him."

Henry closed his eyes and counted to ten before responding. "No, that wasn't what I meant. The ritual itself, didn't it _hurt_?"

"What in the world are you talking about? Of course it didn't hurt!"

"But what about the fire?"

Richard stared at him for a moment and then snapped his fingers. "Oh, right, you trusted one of those three kids to do it, didn't you?"

He didn't consider Bobby, Sein, and especially not Jasper to be kids, but he didn't think he was in a position to argue.

"What's the matter?" Eileen asked, floating over to them.

"Sein's rituals hurt more than our resident madman's," Richard informed her.

"They mean well, but none of those three really know what they're doing, I'm afraid," she sighed.

"Here, I know," Richard said, looking around. "Find Eric and see if he can give you some of that eggnog, Henry! I understand that once you've drunk enough of that, everything will feel good! Hey, Eric!"

"No," Henry began, "I don't want any—"

But Eric was already flying over. "What's up? Need some eggnog?" He held out a glass of something that was most definitely not eggnog.

"No," Henry said quickly.

He shrugged and drank it himself.

"Hey, Henry," Steve called, waving his arm. Behind him, Rick seemed to be partially inside the wall for some reason. "Could you come over here and remove your haunting on these lights?"

"Uh-oh," he muttered, quickly taking his leave of the others. When he got closer, he realized that the reason Rick was in the wall was because he was holding the struggling strand of lights prisoner.

"They keep trying to chase after Jimmy Stone."

He studied the lights and was surprised to find that de-haunting them was a relatively simple thing. The most difficult part was in finding it in himself to genuinely want them to stop going after the hostile Order priest.

Rick flew out with the lights when they stopped fighting him, and the two ghosts began to put them back where they had been before.

"Thanks."

"No problem," he said, and then he became aware that he could hear true Christmas music again, and it was getting louder.

He looked over to where William was cranking up the volume on the renewed radio. The opening notes of "We Need a Little Christmas" filled the room, and he found himself grinning at the appropriateness. If anyone did, they did.

He realized with some surprise that their room actually was starting to look like the sort of decorated place described in the song. There even were candles in the windows, despite the fact that nothing could be seen through them anymore. He flew over to take a closer look. They weren't Holy Candles—in a room full of ghosts, that wouldn't be the wisest idea—but they were honest-to-goodness wax candles.

"Gotcha!"

He whirled around in surprise just as Cynthia grabbed him and kissed him.

He pulled away quickly, his face burning with embarrassment—it shouldn't be possible for ghosts to blush; he was convinced there had to be a way to stop that sort of thing from happening—and noticed too late the mistletoe handing above the windows.

"Don't do that," he gasped, moving away from the windows.

"You didn't like it?" she pouted.

He blushed again. "I…err…I…" He turned to escape and flew right into Walter.

"Henry! I heard you had a little trouble with Sein's ritual!"

"Err…" He stared at him. Walter had that sort of overly happy smile on his face that people seem to adopt when they really need your help with something and are trying to convince everyone else of their contentment. Unfortunately, some people can't pull it off without looking utterly mad.

"Come with me."

"No, I think I'll let Sein catch me on fire again!" he said with a nervous laugh.

Walter narrowed his eyes.

Henry raised his hands in preparation for self-defense. He could sense they were attracting an audience. He looked over, and the backs of his ears burned. Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt could convey their contempt even without saying anything.

"I'll help you get your present quickly and painlessly, as long as you give me a little bit of advice in return."

_Advice? And he won't help me until I help him?_ It looked like someone hadn't quite grasped the Christmas spirit yet.

"If there's anything else you need, I'll help with that, too."

Henry stared at him. No, that wasn't it. There was far more desperation than manipulation there. He sighed and relented. "You don't have to bargain for my help, you know," he said, as they went into the hall.

Walter glanced at him uncertainly. "Why would you help me unless there was something in it for you?"

"I'm a nice guy?" he suggested weakly. Here was someone who definitely needed help, in more ways than he knew.

"I killed you."

"Don't worry, I didn't forget."

Walter didn't say anything else, and just led him to Room 303, where he had _his_ setup for the ritual. It looked a bit more organized than Sein's had, even if the basic idea remained the same—a circle with mysterious symbols. Of course, Walter knew how to perform the Order's rituals, as the very Otherworld they were standing in proved.

"Okay, what do you need advice about?" _And why are you asking me?_ he added silently.

"It's…the present thing. This…Secret Santer."

"Santa."

"Shut up. It's not like we had happy myths like that at the Wish House."

Henry held up his hands. "I wasn't making fun of you."

"Why not? It's not like I could kill you again."

"I'm sure you could come up with many painful things to do nevertheless."

Walter gave him a dark look, as though he were thinking up some of those things right now.

"Look, why do you need my help with the Secret Santa?"

"Because I…want to do this Christmas thing right."

Henry wasn't sure how bad you had to be to actually fail at Christmas. "It's just a holiday."

"I've never successfully celebrated a holiday in my life! I tried when I was in college, but it never worked out. I don't know _why_ you people want me to be involved in your Christmas, but if you do, I have to try. I don't want to end up like…"

"Like Jimmy Stone?"

Walter stared down at the floor, seeming abashed about having said so much. "That's not fair. It's my fault you're all here. It's my fault he's like that."

Henry was sorely tempted to punch him. Being already dead, he'd take homicidal insanity to this defeatist depression any day.

"_Okay_, I'll help you with the Secret Santa. What is the problem?"

"I don't know what to get her."

"…Her?"

Walter held out the piece of paper with Eileen's name on it.

"Oh no."

"Oh no?"

He didn't say that maybe it would be a better present to Eileen if he didn't get her anything, but apparently it showed in his face.

"Go away, Henry," Walter said in a dangerously calm voice.

"What?"

"Go away, before I really get angry."

Apparently the homicidal insanity was still lurking around. "I said I'd help you, didn't I?"

"You don't want me getting anything for her."

"I didn't say that."

"You thought it."

"Just get her the all-time default gift."

"Flowers?" he asked dubiously.

"_No,_" he said quickly, not even wanting to think about Walter giving Eileen flowers. "A gift card."

"To a store? We don't exactly have many around here."

Henry sighed and hoped his idea wouldn't sound completely insane when he explained it. Not that Walter would mind complete insanity, but Eileen might. "No, to you."

Walter backed away quickly.

"No, I didn't mean…" Henry put his head in his hands for a while, until he felt composed enough to look up. "I think I phrased that badly."

"Yes, you did."

"Make up a nice little card that she can 'redeem' some time when she wants you to do something for her."

"Like what?"

"Anything! That's the point of the card!"

"But…" He looked around and lowered his voice. "What if she asks for something that makes me uncomfortable?"

Henry choked, bit his lip, and then gave up and burst out laughing. He knew this was definitely the wrong time and place for it, but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't believe he was actually having this conversation. Walter couldn't possibly be afraid that Eileen would try to take advantage of him.

"Stop laughing; it's not funny!"

"Yes it is," he gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. He was probably going to pay for this, but even that thought didn't stop his amusement. What was he going to do, _kill _him? He cracked up laughing again.

"Henry! If it was Eileen afraid that _I_ was going to pressure _her_ into something inappropriate, you wouldn't be laughing!"

That sobered him somewhat, and he managed to keep his mouth from twitching as he looked at Walter. "You're right, I'm sorry. But trust me, I know Eileen, and she wouldn't… I mean, she…and you… If she were inclined to…" He couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with his luck these days, that even a conversation about a Secret Santa could turn this horrifyingly embarrassing. "She's the sort of person who would certainly not pressure you…oh dear lord, I am not _having _this conversation…"

"If you tell anyone about this conversation, you will wish you were deader than dead."

"I _already_ wish that," he muttered under his breath.

"Are you ready to summon your present?"

"Give me a moment to erase that conversation from my memory first." He walked over to the wall and leaned his head against it since his face was still burning, and then he was promptly knocked to the ground by a Wall Man.

"Don't go near that wall."

"Thanks for the warning," he said sarcastically. "Where did that come from?"

"The wall."

"No kidding."

He rubbed his head and looked up at the monster still growling from the wall. He had just enough time to notice the leaves attached to it before Cynthia flew through the floor and kissed him.

"What, do you have your mistletoe hooked up to an alarm system?" he demanded, pulling himself free of her.

She just laughed and glanced towards Walter.

"I wasn't anywhere near that treacherous plant." Henry glanced over, startled by how dark his tone was.

Cynthia winked. "So? If you lie, I won't tell anyone."

"Good-bye, Cynthia!" Henry said, grabbing her and shoving her out into the hall before something bad happened. He looked at Walter again. "Uh…you don't like her very much, do you?"

"I'm certainly not going to tell you about it. I've looked like enough of a fool already."

That put a complete end to any friendly atmosphere the room had had, and Henry decided it was best to get on with the ritual as quickly as possible.

It was very similar to what Sein had done, except that instead of bursting into flames, he found himself holding a bottle of chocolate milk instead. He had hoped for a box and wrapping paper, like Richard had gotten, but a good look at the brooding expression on Walter's face convinced him not to press his luck too far.

"Well, thanks," he said, edging towards the door with the chocolate milk. "Bye." He fled into the snowstorm and was even more relieved than usual to return to Room 302. The ghosts there were much as they had been when he left them, but Eileen noticed his return right away and floated over to him.

"How'd it go?" she asked.

He shoved the chocolate milk under the tree next to Richard's present. "You really don't want to know."

He saw Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt flying towards him with sardonic smiles on their faces, and he scowled. Whatever they had to say this time, he didn't want to hear it. He was leaving.

"Where are you going?" Eileen asked.

"Out."

"But you hate going out there!"

He did hate it. It was one of the things he hated the most about his new existence, but right now, it didn't matter. He flew through the door and out into the hall of this gruesome parody of South Ashfield Heights. He flew through the building until he was in a place where he was sure he was alone. He hated it, even if it was snowing.

In the room, he could at least pretend he was alive. It was a stretch, but there was a degree of normalcy that could allow you to pretend that maybe, just maybe, everyone had simply decided to live there. And occasionally float around.

All right, when he was honest with himself, he never forgot that he was dead and surrounded by other ghosts. At least he could feel human inside of Room 302, though. Out here, he became a monster. He remembered the ghosts chasing him through the Otherworlds when he was still alive, and he knew that if he stopped concentrating on who he was, he would become just like them for a while. He hated it.

At the moment, Henry hated quite a few things, and he knew it was terrible of him to be feeling that way on the day before Christmas.

_Christmas._

"Henry?" It was Eileen. She must have followed him. "Henry, what is it?"

"It's not a real Christmas," he sighed. "It'll never be a real Christmas, not here. We're _dead_! This is a horrible place! How can we sit around and celebrate?"

"Is it so bad to want to bring cheer to the place we're trapped in?" she asked. "We can bring the Christmas spirit here. I've felt it already."

He had, too, until just recently. Could he tell her that their hated murderer was afraid of messing up at celebrating and got nervous about women? No, of course not. The conversation had been a secret one.

It was so depressing to look at someone you were comfortable with thinking of as pure evil, and see something like that there. It made him think that if things had gone differently for Walter, he might not have been so messed up. He might have been a decent guy.

"Henry?"

"You're right," he said. "I'll be all right. It won't be a normal Christmas, but I guess we've got to try. At least we're all in the same situation; we're all victims here."

_All of us._

Laughter shook him out of his dark thoughts. He searched through the snowstorm until he found the source. Little Walter had gotten stuck in a snowdrift, and he and the Twin Victim were throwing snow at each other.

"Do you need help?" Henry called.

They stopped and looked over guiltily. Little Walter wiggled deeper into the snow until only the top of his head was visible.

"I wish he wouldn't look at us like we're going to hurt him," Eileen said.

Henry nodded in sad agreement. "Well…should we help these two get back?"

"I think so. Oh, and Henry? Don't worry about Christmas. Tomorrow there will be a special show, and caroling, and presents…it'll be fine. You'll see."

He smiled and hoped it would be as good as she seemed to think. Too many things could go wrong—and often did, in Room 302.


	2. Christmas Day

Christmas Day

"Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!"

Henry heard Frank's voice and kept his eyes closed. He was sleeping in one of the chairs, and he wanted to stay there. He wasn't sure how early it was, but it seemed too early to be getting up, even for a ghost who technically didn't need sleep.

"HO HO HO! Merry Christmas!" Something hit his face, and his eyes snapped open. Frank paused in the act of raising another cookie to throw.

"What time is it?"

Frank shrugged. "How should I know? The clock's haunted; it's been going backwards today!"

"Wonderful."

"I know. I just love it here! I never know what to expect."

Henry didn't laugh, because he was pretty sure the superintendent wasn't joking. He looked around and saw that all of the ghosts were waking up, returning from outside the room, and otherwise gathering. There seemed to be generally good feelings in the air, with everyone smiling at least a little at the brilliantly lit tree in the center of the room. The only exceptions were Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt, who were sitting on top of the bookshelf and scowling.

There was also a lot of laughter and even a few tunes he could hear. He suspected it had to do somewhat with the mugs that half of the ghosts were holding. Eric's special eggnog seemed to be running freely today.

Frank left him to walk around and ask everyone if they had been a good little boy or girl this year, complete with his exaggerated Santa Claus laugh. He even tried asking the three Order ghosts, who just glared at him until he left them alone.

William cranked up the volume on the radio, which was still working. Henry was a little surprised. He had expected sabotage during the night from Stone.

"Well, Merry Christmas," Henry greeted, joining the group.

The response came as a loud chorus of holiday greetings, including cries for Happy Hanukkah, Happy New Year, Happy Birthday, and a few others that he didn't quite make out.

"I love this song!" Rick shouted, as the radio began to play "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen." He flew over and turned the volume up even louder.

Henry circled the room, surveying the decorations. It actually looked nice. It helped that the apartment currently looked normal, not all bloody and rusty like it did occasionally. The tree was aglow with strung lights, tinsel and brightly-colored balls hung from its branches, and someone had even summoned or made an angel for the top. The trunk was surrounded by presents. Lights and garland hung around the ceiling—punctuated with Cynthia's mistletoe all over the place, he noticed—and candles were lit in every window. There was a wreath on each door, and he knew that if he went into the other parts of Room 302, he'd find decorations there as well. There even were lights twinkling merrily inside the secret room where Walter's corpse had once hung.

"It really is Christmas," he exclaimed, laughing as the Twin Victim ran by with two Santa hats on its heads.

"And you had doubts," Eileen said, joining him.

"I'm not sure when I last saw a place decorated this festively," he admitted.

Stone let out a growl from the bookshelf. "You're all fools! This is ridiculous! We're dead!"

"And here we are, eating cookies," Rosten sighed. He quickly hid the cookie in his hand and corrected himself, "Err, trapped with people who are eating cookies."

"I might celebrate Christmas if I were alive," Archbolt lamented gloomily. "But I'm not, _George._"

"Don't blame me! This isn't my fault!"

"It's sure not mine!"

"Keep talking, Mr. Wish House."

Archbolt scowled and shoved a cookie in his mouth.

Henry stared at them. For all they were following their hate-filled leader, it seemed that those two couldn't stay out of the festivities entirely. He shook his head. It was a time for miracles, after all.

Little Walter ran up and looked at Eileen expectantly. "When do we get to open presents?" he asked, after a moment's hesitation.

"Why not now?" she asked, looking around. "What do we do?"

Joseph popped out of the ceiling, and Henry jumped. "Well, we could all start chanting 'We want presents' at the top of our ghostly little lungs."

"You've been drinking that stuff again, haven't you?" Henry asked.

"Yep."

He started up his chant, just like he had warned, and William turned off the radio. Frank began booming, "Ho ho ho," and when no one moved, he shouted, "To the tree! To the tree!"

The Twin Victim got there ahead of everyone and picked up a box. It pointed dramatically at Rick when everyone else—other than the three non-participants—arrived and sat down around the tree, and hissed, "_Present!_"

"For me?" Rick asked, accepting it. "Did you pick it out yourself?" He didn't get an answer, but he probably wasn't expecting one. The monster's vocabulary was growing, but was still rather limited.

It was a small package, and he tore it open quickly. "Coffee!" he shouted, holding up the bag for everyone to see. "What—this is my favorite flavor! I used to have this every day at work!"

Henry wondered for a minute what good coffee would do a ghost—but then he thought about the eggnog and cookies, not to mention the chocolate milk he had gotten, and he realized that Rick would probably be drinking coffee every day now.

Jasper reached under the tree and pulled out an oddly wrapped bundle. He handed it to the presumably delighted monster. "I th-thought you might want it for the s-snow," he explained, as it was revealed to be two hats knitted together as one.

_They sell things like that? People are stranger than I thought._

Billy and Miriam discarded their Santa hats for the new one, and promptly hugged Jasper. He struggled for a while and then just looked resigned.

"Jasper," Henry called, picking up the bottle of chocolate milk. He tossed it to him when the Twin Victim released him.

"Ch-chocolate!" he gasped, hugging it against his chest.

Henry grinned, but his smile faded when Cynthia sang, "Oh, Hennnnry…"

"Oh no," he said, as she flew too close for comfort and handed him his present. He was almost afraid to open it, especially because of the way her eyes were dancing.

Finally he tore off the paper, and stared at the pink boxer shorts.

"Pull on the drawstring!" she encouraged.

"…What?"

She reached forward and pulled on the drawstring. Immediately, it began to sing something about being sexy, and he quickly folded it up and sat on it to muffle the noise. Why him? No one else was getting embarrassing gifts!

"Aren't you going to try them on?" she asked with a sly wink.

"Certainly not!"

"But how will we know if they fit or not?"

"It's none of your business if my shorts fit!" he cried, horrified.

Joseph took pity on him and pulled a box out from under the tree. "Merry Christmas, Cynthia!"

She opened it and pulled out a wooden box. It was filled with red paper. "What is it?"

"It's a stationary set, so you can celebrate Valentine's Day!"

"Oh, Joseph!" She kissed him on the cheek. "I'll make sure you get a special Valentine."

He coughed and looked away.

"Joseph, I hope you like it," Eileen said, grabbing a present and handing it to him. "I really wasn't sure what you'd like."

"A new typewriter?" he asked, looking at the object he had unwrapped. Henry could already tell it was one of those small, low-processing-power computers that people got sometimes. "But how does it work?"

"No, it's not a typewriter," she said, sitting beside him. "Look, I'll show you how it works."

"Amazing!" he breathed, as she pressed the power button and the screen lit up.

_I get Jasper a bottle of milk, and she gets Joseph a computer._ He knew they hadn't actually spent any money, but it still make him feel like he should have done more. It also made him wonder worriedly if stores in the real world were mysteriously missing items, or if it didn't work like that. After all, their bodies were all buried somewhere out there, even if their ghosts were presents could be the ghosts of presents.

Joseph's crash course in computers went on for several minutes. Henry looked over and saw that Walter seemed to be silently willing them to continue forever.

"Can we get on with it?" Frank asked. "Eileen, show him the computer later! You need to get your present!"

"Oh, sorry," she said, blushing. "I didn't mean to hold us up."

"Take all the time you need," Walter said.

She stared at him in surprise, and he quickly grabbed his small envelope from under the tree and handed it to her. He explained the idea of the gift card almost word-for-word as Henry had told him, even starting by calling it a "nice little card." He spoke rapidly, tripping over his words, and finally stammered, "Merry…ah…Christmas!"

"That was surreal," Richard commented.

Walter gave him a murderous look.

"Um, thank you," Eileen said. "You don't celebrate very often, do you?"

"…Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you just seem nervous."

Silence followed her comment…and continued until everyone was looking around uncertainly. Something should have happened by now.

"Okay," Sharon sighed, "someone had to have drawn Walter's name out of the hat."

There was more silence.

"This isn't the Christmas spirit," Frank added, staring around at them all.

There was still more silence.

"It's okay," Walter said, ducking his head and looking like he wanted to run away. "I killed you all. I'm used to this sort of thing, anyway."

The silence was broken by Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt, chuckling from the bookshelf. Stone began to clap, slowly and mockingly.

"Bravo, whoever realized that you shouldn't give your murderer a Christmas present."

No one said anything for a few minutes, and Henry felt vaguely annoyed that this was happening. If he was honest, he did understand what Stone was saying, but this _was_ Christmas, after all…

"Oh, I'm sorry," Andrew cried, grabbing a box from under the tree and shoving it across the floor to Walter. "Can't a man even be terrified in peace on Christmas?"

Walter unwrapped it to reveal a new coat, almost identical to his old one.

"I just thought, that after what we did to your coat yesterday…oh no, please don't hurt me!" he pleaded, as Walter smiled at him.

"Why would I hurt you for giving me a present?"

"Yeah," Stone called over, spreading his arms with a sardonic smile, "I mean, it's not like in the past he's ever shown a tendency to attack people who gave him—yagh!" He yelled and dove to the side as Eileen chucked a Christmas ball from the tree at him.

William picked up a small box and tossed it to Andrew.

"Oh, a clock!"

Richard laughed and grabbed his box. "Here you go, you crazy old clockmaker, you!"

"Oh! It's a…a…" William turned the thing he had unwrapped upside down to see if that would help. "It's a…thing!"

"You mean you don't know? Come on, you press this button over here, and it tells you the current time in every country in the world. Then over here, you can look up different models of clocks and the parts needed to fix them…"

As William fiddled with his new machine, Bobby gave Richard his present.

"What is it?" he asked, staring at the cloth figure under the paper.

"It's a fake voodoo doll."

"…Oh."

"You make it into whoever you're angry at, and then you stick pins in it. It might help with anger management."

"Who says I need help with anger management?" Richard demanded, hitting him with the doll. "Whoever told you that is going to be the first person I stick pins into—and I mean into _them_, not into the doll!"

"Bobby!" Frank shouted. "I'm not quite sure what your childhood was like, but I got you something that every young person should use at least once. It's not under the tree, though; it's out in the hall."

"What is it?"

"A gumball machine."

Bobby's eyebrows shot up. "A…gumball machine?"

"Yeah! You want to go try it now?"

"I think I'll wait until later."

"Here's yours," Eric said, handing Frank a box.

He shook it. "It sounds too quiet to be a drink!"

"That was just a ruse to throw you off the track."

Frank unwrapped it and his eyes lit up. "A new suit! This is exactly what I needed, and just in time, too!"

"In time for what?"

Before he could answer, Peter had pushed a large box towards Eric. "I hope it hasn't gone bad," he fretted.

"A birthday cake?" Eric asked, after he opened it. "But it's not my birthday."

"No, but it was once."

"Err, yes… Thank you…"

"Peter, I really didn't know what you'd like," Sein said, sliding over a cylindrical tin, "so I went with a classic."

"Popcorn!" he cried, pulling off the lid.

"Three different flavors, too."

"Here you go, Sein," Steve called, tossing him a gift bag. "I know you're not a photographer like Henry, but I heard that you used to have a camera. Well, this one is better."

Sein pulled out his new digital camera and began to take pictures of the room.

"You're a hard man to buy for," Rick said, as he handed over a small box to Steve.

He opened it and examined the small, metallic device that had been inside. "It's a…flashlight?"

"Not only is it a flashlight, but if you press the button on the side, it becomes a strobe light, turning it upside down makes it work as a pen, and if you shake it, it plays the Mexican Hat Dance!"

_What will they think of next?_ Henry wondered.

No one said anything for a while, and then Sharon clapped her hands together. "Two boxes left, two of us—I guess that means we drew each other's names, Little Walter!"

They exchanged the remaining two presents and opened them at almost the same time. Little Walter had given her a short poem that he shyly said he had written himself, and she had given him a model train.

"And that's not all," she said, nodding at it. "Take a good look at the conductor."

"Is that me?" he asked, staring at the tiny, blonde figure on the train.

"Well, it's one of you," she said with a shrug. "I used to see these all the time when I went shopping, and I knew one of them looked just like he could be an eighteen-year-old you."

Frank jumped up. "Before we get on to the Christmas show, there's one more important thing we have to do. Now, I decided to be Santa Claus, and at a time like this, I really can't say anyone doesn't deserve a present. So, participating or not…" He reached into his Santa coat and pulled out three festive neckties. He walked over and handed them to Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt. "Merry Christmas!"

"I can wear this when I go out," Archbolt said sarcastically. "It happens so often anymore."

"Each one plays a different verse of 'Jingle Bells' when you tug it," Frank explained.

Rosten gave his a tug, and quickly pulled on it again to get it to turn off when Stone shot him a scathing look.

"All right!" Sharon shouted. "Now, everyone get a seat, and gather in the living room for the Christmas show! Be there in ten minutes, or we may start without you!"

Henry drifted over to Eileen. "Where are we supposed to find extra chairs?"

"I know where my chair is," Richard said, flying out of the room.

"We probably can find others in the apartments," Eileen said. "Shall we brave the storm?"

"Let's go."

They flew together out into the blizzard. Defying all logic, the snow was still coming down and the hall wasn't filled to the ceiling yet. He didn't waste too much thought on it; looking for logic in the Otherworld was the sort of thing that provided nothing but headaches.

"So, what did you do with your present?" she asked, grinning at him as they searched for chairs.

"I left it on the floor," he muttered. "I should have brought it out here to bury it."

She laughed. "Cynthia loves tormenting you, you know."

"I've noticed."

They found seats without too much trouble and took them back to Room 302. Sharon and Joseph were busily converting half of the room into the stage for their show, and were currently hanging curtains to separate it from the audience. In front of the curtain, Peter, Frank, and Little Walter had already set up chairs. The way they had their seats spaced, it looked like there was room for about one more, so Eileen set down her chair and sat next to Little Walter.

Henry put his behind her and sat down. "Do you know what this Christmas show is going to be like?"

"No one's told me anything," she said.

Frank chuckled.

"Frank?"

"You'll love it," he assured them.

"I know I'll love it," Richard said, dragging in the chair from his apartment and sitting next to Henry. "Have enough of Eric's eggnog, and anything will seem entertaining. I normally hate stupid shows like this, but this is one show I'm going to enjoy. If the eggnog doesn't work, and I start to fall asleep, someone turn my chair on."

"You thought of that one _after_ the 'eggnog,' didn't you?" Henry asked.

"Yep."

Peter regarded him nervously. "Why are there manacles on your chair?"

"That's in case the show is really bad, and I attempt to flee."

"You're in trouble if you have to manacle your audience to the seats to get them to watch," Walter commented, setting a chair down next to Richard. He was already wearing his new coat.

"Save this spot for me," Joseph said, providing the fourth chair for their row. "I have to get things started."

He went backstage, and after a few moments, Steve, Rick, William, and Eric formed a third row.

"Eggnog?" Eric offered, holding out a jug. Steve held up a pile of mugs.

"All right," Walter said, accepting a mug. Once Eric had filled it, he looked at it, shrugged, and drained it.

A minute later, once he had stopped coughing, he wheezed, "What was that?"

"Not eggnog," Henry said.

"I'll take another shot of that stuff," Richard said.

"Are you sure you haven't had enough?" Eric asked.

"One way or another, I'm staying animated through this thing, and I'd rather have a high time at the show than an electrifying experience." He burst out laughing and elbowed Henry and Walter, but both steadily resisted joining in.

"Where is everyone?" Eileen asked, looking around.

William replied, "Well, Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt are hiding in the bedroom out of fear that they might accidentally have a good time."

"If you ask me," Steve said, "Stone is hiding them in there out of fear that Rosten and Archbolt might have a good time and defect."

"But what about the others?" she asked. "Are we the only ones here to see the show?"

Frank waved his hands and shushed her. "Quiet! It's starting!"

Joseph flew in front of the curtain and bowed. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first Christmas show of Room 302! We have many wonderful things in store for you today, and I hope you leave filled with the Christmas spirit! Despite the convenience, we felt it would be clichéd if we performed _A Christmas Carol_, but if we get enough requests for it, we may add it to the program next year."

Peter got out his container of popcorn and began to pass it around. In spite of himself, Henry took a handful of popcorn when it reached him. It actually was quite good.

"And now, without further ado, I give you the Seven-eight-one-three—"

"That's thirteen!" Sharon's voice shouted from behind the curtain.

"The Seven-eight-thirteen-sixteen-eighteen Song and Dance Troupe!" He bowed again and then flew quickly to his seat.

"Those numbers can't possibly mean what I think they mean," Walter muttered.

To the complete horror of the audience, they did. Andrew was the first to step out onto the stage, but he was closely followed by Cynthia, Sharon, and the Twin Victim. The Twin Victim was holding a set of jingle bells, which it began to shake.

Then, with Cynthia on the main vocals and Sharon and Andrew on harmony parts, they began to sing "A Holly Jolly Christmas." They danced and trotted back and forth on the stage, and Cynthia winked each time she sang the line about mistletoe. It was certainly not the worst show Henry had ever seen, but the dancing made it just a bit frightening.

When the song came to an end, they paused and bowed.

The front row led the applause, and the rest joined in nervously. Henry wondered if more songs were coming.

Billy and Miriam counted them off with the jingle bells again. Sharon began a harmonious, "Oooh," as Cynthia sang, "Merry Christmas, Saint Nick," and Andrew joined in right behind her with, "Christmas comes this time each year."

"I love this song!" Rick shouted. He jumped up and began to clap along as they sang and danced to "Little Saint Nick."

Once again, it was somewhere between enjoyable and frightening. Cynthia seemed to be having the time of her life as she sang and danced, and the others were only slightly less animated. When they finished, they bowed again.

This time, Rick started off the applause, and the group disappeared back behind the closing curtains.

Joseph got up and flew to the front again. "Thank you for that magnificent performance! Next up are our quickly rising stars from Silent Hill, the inimitable Trescientos Dos Three!"

"That's just 302 in Spanish," Richard muttered as Joseph sat back down. "They're the 302 Three? Really?"

Jasper, Bobby, and Sein were waiting when the curtains opened. Jasper was holding a trumpet. Sein raised his hand to count them off, and then they began singing "Zat You, Santa Claus?" The good news was that they didn't dance, but the bad news was that Jasper apparently had never played a trumpet before in his life.

Partway through, Frank got up and hurried behind the curtains.

"None of them is exactly Louis Armstrong," Richard said a little too loudly, "but they aren't _that_ bad, Sunderland!"

When they finished, they bowed, and Bobby said, "And now, we would like to present you with a favorite piece from a classic movie!"

Jasper set down his trumpet, and they began to march around as they sang "Put One Foot in Front of the Other." They were slightly better this time, most likely because they had no failed attempts at musical accompaniment, but they kept punctuating the lyrics by pointing at the audience at key moments.

"I hope they don't expect us to get up and join in," Henry whispered.

The members of the previous dance troupe came back on stage to join the song, and they began waving their hands for the audience to follow suit. Peter did jump out of his seat and run up to walk with them, and Little Walter followed. Everyone else sat very still, and Henry at least was trying not to even make eye contact.

To his relief, no one made them get up. Putting one foot in front of the other, the singers walked back behind the curtains at the end of the song, and Peter and Little Walter hurried to rejoin the audience and start the applause. Jasper, Bobby, and Sein came back out to bow, and then Joseph took his place at the front again. He waited patiently, because all of the previous performers were coming out to sit on the floor in front of the first row. He waited until the popcorn had been passed to them, and then he got their attention. His voice was now in the eerie, echoing state it was outside of the room.

"And now," Joseph shouted to his alarmed audience, "we have a very special treat for the conclusion of our show! I warn you that there will be audience participation, so the faint of heart may want to leave now."

Andrew glanced around and started to get up, but Cynthia and Sharon grabbed his arms and prevented him from leaving.

"You will see marvels and feats beyond anything you dreamed of—I give you, the Great Sunderlando!"

He reclaimed his seat in the audience as the curtains opened.

Frank was wearing the suit he had gotten for Christmas, and he also had gotten a top hat from somewhere. He had the remains of Walter's old coat wrapped around him like a tattered cape, and he tossed it over his shoulder with a flourish.

"Ladies and gentlemen! You are about to discover that I am a master of the mysterious and the bizarre, and that what you see is not always what you think you see. Behold, my empty hat."

He took the top hat off and held it so that they could see that it was, in fact, empty.

"Bet he's got a hidden pocket with stuff in it," Richard not-quite-whispered.

"Now," Frank said, reaching into the hat. "I reach into this hat, which you all saw was empty, and…err…it is still empty."

"Guess I gave him too much credit."

Frank coughed and smiled broadly at the audience. "Just a joke! Of course it doesn't work unless you say the magic words. Abracadabra!" He whacked the hat and reached into it again. After a moment, he pulled out his hand. He wasn't holding anything. "That, of course, was a test. You thought something was going to happen, didn't you?"

"No," Richard assured him loudly.

"Those silly words that fake magicians use mean nothing. I, on the other hand, use the _real_ magic. No one is allowed to hear this but the hat." He put his face in the hat, supposedly whispering the magic words to it, but Henry suspected he was either searching for his missing items or just avoiding looking at the audience.

He didn't manage to pull anything out of the hat after that attempt, either.

"Well, now you've truly seen my magnificence," Frank said with a bow. "You see, any amateur can make object materialize from a hat. _I've_ made them disappear, as just a taste of what is to come!"

Walter turned around and whispered to Eric, "Do you have any more of that eggnog?"

Frank flourished his cape again and pulled out two eggs from his pockets. He lifted them up, one in each hand. "Next, I want you all to look at these eggs. As anyone can plainly see, I have two eggs here. Two eggs, keep that in mind. But when I bring them together…" He brought his hands together and squeezed them sharply. Egg ran out from between his fingers and dripped onto the floor.

"Congratulations!" Richard shouted. "You no longer are holding any eggs! Eric, more eggnog for me!"

Eileen turned around. "Richard! You're making Frank feel bad."

Despite her words, Frank looked only mildly put off by his failure with the eggs. He wiped his hands off on his cape, laughed, and said, "Well, we've passed the simple stuff now, folks. For this next trick, I need a volunteer. Anyone? Yes? Yes, you there, in the back! Come on up!"

Steve got up and flew to join Frank. "What do I do?"

Frank pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Hold out your wrists."

"You have the key, right?"

"Of course."

Steve let Frank handcuff him, and Henry winced. He already had a bad feeling about this.

"Now, Mr. Garland, would you try to break free?"

He strained with no success.

"You would definitely say that you can not get loose?"

"Definitely."

"Good." Frank turned to the audience. "Now, I must admit to some slight deception a minute ago. I do have the key, but it is not the sort of key you might be imagining. No, ladies and gentlemen, this key is right here." He tapped the side of his head. "Only my magical prowess can free him now."

Steve stared at him in utter horror.

The Great Sunderlando tapped on the chain. When that didn't work, he tapped on each of the cuffs. He tried to pull Steve's wrists free, performed some sort of strange karate chop on the chains, and finally resorted to glaring at the handcuffs for a while.

"We'll get you out," Rick assured his disconsolate friend, as Steve sat down with his wrists still cuffed.

"Now, I'd like another volunteer for my amazing telepathy demonstration…Ms. Blake?"

Frank had called on Sharon a second before she raised her hand, and Henry looked at them suspiciously. They had both worked on the ideas for the show, after all.

Sharon got up and stood by him, and he instructed her to think of anything at all.

"I see…" He frowned and put his hand on his forehead. "A brightly colored…shining…turtle!"

"That's exactly right!"

"Plant!" Richard shouted, standing up. "She's a plant! They worked that out beforehand! Plant!"

"Sit down," Henry hissed, somewhat embarrassed to be sitting by him. No one else was making a scene.

Sharon returned to the audience, and Frank fixed them all with a serious look. "Now, we have come to one of the high points of the show…the séance."

"I thought a séance was a way to talk to dead people," William whispered. "How exactly are we going to pull this off?"

"Maybe we talk to living people?" Eric suggested.

"Since we're all ghosts," Frank continued, "we are going to have what you might call a reverse-séance. We are going to communicate to our living loved ones! Now, who would like to volunteer? Perhaps the vocal gentleman in the second row? Mr. Braintree?"

"No," Richard shouted up to him, "I'm holding out in case you have a part for the human lightning rod!"

Henry choked in an attempt to hold back laughter and heard Walter laughing on the other side of Richard.

Frank looked displeased. He tapped his foot and narrowed his eyes. "I think one of you disbelievers had better volunteer. You there, in the coat. Yes, you."

Walter shrugged and joined him at the front.

"Now, who would you like to communicate with?"

"No one."

"Come on, now—you must have some living relatives or friends you'd like to talk to."

"None."

Henry suddenly had a terrible premonition, and he waved his hands to try to get Frank's attention, shaking his head emphatically. Unfortunately, his warnings went entirely unnoticed.

"I got it!" Frank cried, snapping his fingers. "How about your mother?"

A minute later, Walter was back in his seat, and The Great Sunderlando was backstage changing into something without any blood on it. He returned before the restless audience could get too out of hand, and gave yet another bow.

"Thank you, Mr. Sullivan, for that demonstration of martial ability," he said, rubbing his nose. "Injuries mean very little to a ghost, but nevertheless I think we should skip the séance for today. We'll move straight on to one of the most amazing magical feats ever performed!" He left briefly again and returned with a wooden box. It looked very much like a coffin.

"What's that for?" Little Walter asked nervously.

Frank grinned. "This is that famous trick where a lady climbs into the box with everyone watching. The box is cut to pieces, but she is miraculously unharmed. And for my volunteer…" He pointed.

"Me?" Eileen asked, sliding her chair backwards.

"Yes, you." He reached into the box and pulled out an axe. From the look of it, it had probably been used to kill people in the past. It also looked very sharp.

"Don't worry," Bobby said. "You're a ghost. It's not like he can really kill you."

"Although it will probably be very painful and messy until you piece yourself back together," Sein mumbled.

"Miss Galvin! Get up here!" Frank lifted the axe. "I haven't got all day! Think of the marvels you've seen so far today, and trust in my magical power!"

Eileen whirled around. "You wouldn't want to possess me for this, would you, Walter?"

He gave her an aghast look.

"Well, it's just that I hate to knowingly walk to be cut into pieces."

"What has this got to do with Christmas?" Richard demanded, as the reluctant volunteer joined Frank by the box.

"I'm Santa Claus," he snapped, "and I say the Great Sunderlando should become a Christmas tradition for everyone! Get in the box, Eileen."

She gave him a flat look and climbed into the box.

"Now, as you can see, my volunteer is in the box! You also can see that I am holding here an axe with a very sharp blade!" He reached over and closed the lid on the box as Eileen tried to climb out. "Now, trust in my powers, and pay close attention!" He lifted the axe with a terrible war cry.

Henry knew he wasn't the only one who squeezed his eyes shut when the failing magician brought the axe crashing down.

"Hey, that's not fair!" Frank complained.

He opened his eyes and saw that Eileen had apparently flown through the side of the box right before the axe split it in half. She returned to the audience and got a little round of applause just for her.

"Well, you audience of disbelievers, for my final trick, I will disappear." Frank closed his eyes and sunk into the floor.

"Rigged!" Richard shouted. "He's a ghost; he just went through the floor! Someone go to the apartment below and see!"

"And that was our Christmas show!" Joseph announced, flying to the front once again. "On behalf of all of our performers tonight, I would like to thank you all for coming, and wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas!"

Someone began clapping, and the rest of the audience joined in—although whether it was for the Great Sunderlando, or because the show was finally over, Henry wasn't quite sure.

"Steve, turn on your flashlight's music!" Cynthia cried, twirling around. "I feel like doing the Mexican Hat Dance!"

"Me too!" Frank shouted, bursting back through the floor. "I can be your partner, right?"

She stared at him. Steve flew up to the front with Eric, who used the discarded axe to get him out of the handcuffs. Then he shook his flashlight until it began playing music. Frank began dancing and waited expectantly for Cynthia to join in. She continued to stare at him.

"I'll be your partner, Frank!" Sharon volunteered, getting up. Frank looked like he would have much rather danced with Cynthia, but he shrugged and restarted the dance. Several of the other ghosts got up and began dancing alone, not caring if they had partners or not.

Cynthia folded her arms and looked at the rest of them. Henry quickly lowered his head in case she was going to try to talk him into dancing with her. He became aware of an argument going on in the seats next to him.

"No."

"Well she's got to dance with someone."

"I don't dance."

"Look at Sunderland; you call that dancing? Go on."

"I said no."

"Don't make me volunteer you."

"Braintree, I'll make your chair electrocute you again."

"Fine, make my day. But first you're going to dance."

"No."

While they raged back and forth at one another, the door opened, and the three Order ghosts flew out. They looked around and began to whisper to one another. Henry watched them suspiciously, wondering how they were planning to mess with Christmas this time.

They ignored the dancers entirely and began circling Cynthia. He couldn't hear what they were saying over the noise from beside him, but it seemed pretty clear that they were insulting her. He shook his head. It made him almost want to dance with her just to ruin their mean-spirited fun.

Eileen turned around as the argument became too loud to ignore. "Why don't you dance with her, Richard?"

"Because I don't want to." Richard got up and yelled, "Walter wants to dance with you, Cynthia!"

Walter looked like he was considering a murderous rampage.

Cynthia looked over at him.

"No I don't," he growled.

"Of course he doesn't," Stone said. "No one actually wants to talk to you or spend time with you, Cynthia. Haven't you noticed that?"

Archbolt whispered something to her, and she smacked him. It was one of the few times Henry had seen her looking truly upset.

Eileen got up. "I'm not usually a violent person, and especially not on Christmas, but if you three don't leave her alone, I swear, I'll—"

"You'll what?" Rosten asked. "Have we said anything that's not true?"

"Yes."

Everyone but the ghosts who were dancing turned to stare at Walter, but no one said anything. The look on his face indicated that if anyone said anything, the Great Sunderlando's axe might be put to good use after all.

"What I meant was that I didn't want to dance with you if it meant that someone else couldn't. But since you're still free, Cynthia…"

She shot the Order priests a triumphant look, but when she reached Walter, Henry heard her whisper, "You're a liar, Sullivan."

"It was a lie spoken in the Christmas spirit," he said, as they awkwardly joined Frank and Sharon in the Mexican Hat Dance.

"This has been such a bizarre day," Henry muttered, shaking his head.

Eileen laughed. "You're having a good time. Admit it."

"Okay, I admit it."

When the flashlight stopped playing, William hurried to the radio and turned it on. It was once again playing "We Need a Little Christmas." All of the dancers continued dancing to the new song.

"Let's get out of here!" Stone cried, scowling. "Everyone's too…happy! Bah! For the love of Valtiel, dead people shouldn't be happy!"

As they left, Rosten asked quietly, "Toby, I don't suppose you think they'd let us stay… I mean, perhaps we could just sit quietly in the corner and…"

"And not listen to Jimmy's complaining," Archbolt mumbled.

"You could even smile and laugh if you wanted," Eileen said, raising her eyebrows at them.

Eric jumped up. "When this song is over, we should sing Christmas carols! Carols, carols, carols!"

"We could have a snowball fight!" Rick suggested, also getting up.

"What about Christmas dinner?" Steve asked. "Are we going to have turkey?"

Little Walter ran over with the Twin Victim just behind him. He saw them talking and waited patiently, but Eileen noticed him.

"Yes?"

"We were wondering…is this the Christmas spirit?"

Eileen looked around, and Henry did as well. Most of the dancers were still dancing. Despite the Christmas music, Frank was still relentlessly dancing the Mexican Hat Dance, although he was all by himself now. Sharon was trying to persuade Andrew to get up and dance.

"Yes…there's a lot of Christmas spirit in the air right now."

He smiled at that, and wandered off with the Twin Victim by his side. As odd a pair—or trio—they made, it was nice to see children enjoying themselves on Christmas.

"Henry," Eileen said suddenly, "why don't we dance?"

"You mean you and I?" he asked.

"Yes, of course!"

"All right," he said, getting up. The radio was still cycling through Christmas carols. "What are we going to dance—the Mexican Hat Dance, or something else?" He didn't add that he didn't know how to dance. If Richard had said one thing he agreed with, it was that among this crowd, actually knowing how to dance didn't seem to matter.

"Any dance you like!"

"Oh good," he sighed, taking her hands and hoping he wouldn't look like a fool.

To his relief, he managed to fake dancing pretty well—although if he was honest with himself, part of it was because he let Eileen lead, and _she_ knew how to dance. She didn't say anything about it, though, and the minutes passed by pleasantly.

Then someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around to see Cynthia. "I'm trading partners with you, Eileen."

Henry opened his mouth to protest, but then he remembered that the Order priests might still be lurking around to ruin someone's afterlife. He sighed and let Cynthia dance him across the room.

"Thanks for saving me," she said, once they were several feet away. "That was the most unnerving dance ever."

"What do you mean?"

"He kept _smiling_ the whole time."

"Isn't that a good thing? I smile."

"Yeah, so does Dracula."

He glanced over worriedly to see what had become of the other half of the partner exchange. Walter was smiling—and he had to admit, he could see how that smile could get creepy after a while—but at least Eileen was smiling too.

"What is it between you two?" Henry asked. "I understand why he feels such hatred for the three guys from the Order, or for Andrew. But you…?"

"I insulted him," she said flatly.

"Err…"

"If you must know, we were teenagers, and when he talked to me, I thought he was a creep. I think he just wanted to get to know me, though. I didn't want to get to know him, so I insulted him."

Henry wondered if this was really the sort of thing she ought to be telling him when Walter was still in the same room.

"It might have been a bad idea for me to tell him I thought he was handsome. For some reason, he took that to mean I found him attractive."

"Mmhmm," he said vaguely, hoping she'd stop talking soon. For one thing, he didn't want to choose sides on something like this, and for another thing, he was afraid that…yes, yes, just as he had feared, Walter was looking over at them…

"You aren't listening to me anymore, are you?" Cynthia asked with a frown.

"Huh?" he asked, breathing out a sigh of relief as Walter looked away.

"Never mind."

Somehow, the ghosts managed to settle down. William helped that along by turning off the radio, and although Steve shook his flashlight again at Frank's request, they eventually gathered around the living room and prepared for some semblance of a Christmas dinner.

It was not exactly what Henry would have called organized, but that was in part because they didn't have a table large enough for all of them. Especially with Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt moping around and scowling at them, the living room was very crowded when they all were together.

The rituals used to get the presents proved to be just as useful for getting food. Besides that, they also had popcorn and cake. Before long, a Christmas dinner was being passed around the room, one dish at a time.

"Death is no time to enjoy food!" Stone shouted, but everyone ignored him except for his two companions.

Rosten nudged Archbolt and whispered gloomily, "I guess this means he won't let us get our share."

"George, if you ever teach another maniac how to perform a ritual, tell him not to kill Jimmy Stone again."

"Toby, that made even less sense than your jokes."

"I know, but it's just one of those days."

"You can join us!" Eileen shouted at them, but all three sat down in the corner and refused to even look over. She sighed. "Does Christmas sound too religious for them? Is there a holiday celebrated by the cult that might get them to join in?"

"All of their holidays involve human sacrifice," Walter said, stabbing his food for emphasis.

"Sit down, Andrew," Sharon called dryly. "We aren't celebrating those ones."

Andrew, who had started to get up at the word "sacrifice," resumed his seat despite still looking nervous.

The dishes continued their circuit of the room, until everyone finally had what they wanted. For a moment, they all sat their expectantly—even Henry felt that he was waiting for something, although he wasn't sure what.

Then, Eileen cleared her throat. "Before we eat, can I say something?"

Everyone nodded, except for Stone, who threw a snide comment in her direction and was ignored, and then she floated out of her seat to address them. "Well, I hope everyone's having a Merry Christmas. No matter who we are or what we've done, I'm glad we could all come together to celebrate Christmas like this. At its heart, Christmas is a holiday about love and forgiveness. As we sit here together, I think we should all think about these past two days, and realize that we _can_ still have the Christmas spirit."

She sat down, and everyone clapped. Henry shifted uncomfortably, because he had realized partway through her speech that he wanted to say something, too. He was a little embarrassed at the thought of speaking in front of everyone, but he jumped up before he could lose his nerve.

"I'd like to say something, too. As you might have guessed, this isn't how I had planned to be spending this year's Christmas. I thought I'd be considerably more alive, for one thing. This Christmas taught me something, and that's that even if things aren't the way you expected, that doesn't necessarily mean they're bad." He started to sit down, and then he looked around the room at all of the ghosts and thought about all of the crazy things that had happened that day. He'd had quite a good time, and he realized with considerable surprise that he had more to say to them.

"I'm not the most social person…"

"No kidding!" Richard agreed, prompting Eric to take the eggnog away from him.

Henry shook his head and continued. "I'm not the most social person, and I usually spend Christmas alone. So, there really were a lot of ways this Christmas was different for me. This may sound ridiculous, and I never thought I'd be saying this…but there's no one I'd rather spend Christmas with than all of you."

He sat down to more applause than the entire Christmas show had gotten. He saw Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt shouting something that was probably insulting, but they were drowned out. He felt very embarrassed, and he stared down and mumbled responses to everyone who thanked him, until they finally left him alone.

"Who knows 'Joy to the World'?" Eric asked. "I'll lead!"

So, in between bites of their disorganized dinner, the ghosts sang carols. It was bizarre, it was surreal, and it was strangely a lot of fun. It was rare to find a song that more than half the group new, but no one minded hearing Eileen sing "O Holy Night" by herself, or listen to Bobby and Sein try their hand at "Good King Wenceslas." The despair verse of "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" caused more than a few of them to lower their heads and look uncomfortable, but the triumphant final verse restored the good mood. They ran out of food before they ran out of songs, and Steve turned on the strobe light feature of his flashlight while Bobby offered to let everyone join him in trying the gumball machine.

"Come with me to join the snowball fight!" Rick shouted, flying towards the door.

William sat down on the couch with the radio and his present. "All right, name a country, any country! I'll tell you the time."

"Eric won't let me have any more eggnog," Richard grumbled, smacking Henry on the arm as though it was his fault.

"He probably thinks you've had too much."

"It's not like it can hurt my health! I'm dead! That's as bad as your health can get!"

"Yes, well…"

"It's just stupid!"

Joseph popped out of the ceiling. He was holding a mug again, but this one was steaming. "Calm down, Richard. Rick's outside by the snowball fight, making coffee. Perhaps you had better get some."

"Coffee? I don't want coffee; I—" A snowball hit him in the face, cutting him off sharply.

Henry glanced towards the open door of the apartment and waved his hands, but once again, his warnings were ignored.

"Did you see?" Little Walter cried, running over. "I learned how to throw a snowball!"

"I'll get you for that, punk!" Richard shouted, diving at him.

Little Walter yelped and took off, with the angry ghost right behind him.

"Richard, no!" Joseph cried, and joined the chase.

Henry shook his head—and then blinked in surprise as a second snowball flew and hit him. "Where did that come from?"

Eileen joined him and said, "Walter has learned how to throw snowballs."

"But that couldn't have been him; Richard's chasing him around the room!"

"No, not Little Walter. They _both_ learned how to throw snowballs."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," he groaned. He looked towards the doorway and saw Walter standing with a pile of snowballs, apparently trying to decide who to aim at next.

"He has a decided advantage in a snowball fight," Eileen commented. "No one actually has the nerve to throw one back at him."

"Wanna bet?" Henry asked, flying out into the hallway past Walter. He grabbed a pile of snow and gathered it together into a snowball.

She hurried after him. "You're on. Three cookies say you won't dare to hit him."

A moment later, a snowball had smacked into the back of Walter's head, and Henry had ducked behind a snowdrift. "Eileen, if I survive this, I do expect those cookies!" he shouted. After a moment, he peeked out to see what was happening, and a fast-moving snowball shot over his head.

"That was a warning shot!" Walter shouted, with a laugh.

Henry groaned. He laughed just the way he had when chasing them around to kill them. What had he gotten himself into?

"Need some coffee?" Rick asked, appearing beside him with a steaming pot.

"What, now?"

"Why not? It's Christmas! I brought a plate of cookies, too."

Henry drank the coffee and ate the cookies, feeling a bit like he was enjoying his last meal. Then he started to laugh. What, really, was he worried about? It wasn't like he could die during a snowball fight—or at all, for that matter.

He made a new snowball and got ready to throw it.

The snowball fight went on for hours, but eventually it was considered a draw. The festivities gradually died down, and everyone drifted off to get some rest. William and Steve stood near the radio and whispered for a while, and Henry wondered if they were debating if it should play Christmas music all the time from now on.

Despite being exhausted from the snowball fight—Eileen's words had been more or less true, and he spent most of the fight with no allies except for Rick and his coffee—he felt strangely restless. So, he stayed awake, sitting on the couch, as one by one, the others all found a place to sleep. Room 302 was dark, and it seemed unusually peaceful.

Eileen was still awake, however, and after a while, she reached over and poked him. "Henry…"

"Yes?" he asked.

"You had your share of troubles with the mistletoe, but I never caught you there."

"True," he said uncertainly. He wasn't sure if that was an invitation to kiss her, or if she was just making conversation.

"I don't know if it matters to you or not, but I'm under the mistletoe now."

He now didn't feel exhausted at all. That was enough of a hint even for him. With all the mistletoe that had been hung, anyone could end up under it by accident, but you wouldn't announce it if it was just an accident.

He glanced around to make sure the other ghosts were really asleep, and then he moved towards Eileen. He felt a little awkward.

"Merry Christmas, Henry."

"Merry Christmas, Eileen."

And then, when they were only about an inch apart, there was an explosion of sound as the radio began to blast out "We Need a Little Christmas," and all of the Christmas lights began to come on one at a time.

He and Eileen sprang apart.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"All right!" Steve shouted, flying into the air. "That was a great little nap for everyone, but now it's time to wake up!"

"Why?" Richard complained.

"Because it's still Christmas," William explained, beaming.

"We may have an eternity of Christmases to look forward to…"

"But why waste a single minute?"

"Let's dance again!" Frank shouted. "Or, if you'd rather, the Great Sunderlando could make another appearance!"

"Dancing's fine," everyone was quick to assure him.

The three Order priests decided to start chanting something evil-sounding, which started to put a damper on the celebration, but William simply turned up the volume on the radio.

Henry shook his head and laughed. "What a Christmas."

Eileen smiled. "But it wasn't such a bad one, was it?"

"Nah…"

For nothing, not even death, could truly stop the spirit of Christmas, and for the ghosts of Room 302, it was a very Merry Christmas indeed.


End file.
